#I can't breathe

[ayo-edebiri]

#He turned himself into what they think he is

[phantompoguefangirl]

HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK-

[piastrinceo]

oscar at MTC media day

his bunny teeth the 👍is getting more and more aggressive the workout part tho... also, OSCARMᵀᴹ

[vesearlee]

YOOO OKAY CAN I HAVE A CLEAN UP ON ASILE 6 PLEASE― 🫠

✮ tags ; gn!reader (no gendered language. they have boobs), reader is not mc, stripper!reader, normal doctor zayne, takes place in a different country to where the game is set, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.4k

✮ a/n ; dont think too deeply about this one. its just horny. based on this

✮ synopsis ; zayne is not the type of man to fall for a stripper. supposedly.

He's here on business.

Research, specifically. It's common for Zayne to be invited to speak in different conferences regarding his tremendous research - but the prefers the predictable chaos of working in the Linkon City Hospital.

He only ever catches a flight for good reason. And rumor has it that one of the people who have dragged him into such... a salacious establishment have information related to Aether Cores and the like.

This is not the type of place he would ever go on his own, to be quite clear.

It's loud. Packed with people of all kinds, the saccharine scent of perfume and liquor clinging to the air, and completely dim with exception of the stage.

There's a popular performer tonight, Zayne hears from the crowd. He glances over at the people besides him. A strange mix of professionals and business men all shitface drunk.

He wonders if this kind of environment would be more tolerable if he, too, drank.

His head hurts regardless. He scans the room quietly, trying to map out an easy exit. He'll make up a lie about having a meeting in the morning and excuse himself politely. They seem just out of it enough not to hold it against him. Now would be the perfect time.

He really, really wants to leave. But the optimal time to do so passes him. Before he can unlatch from his seat, the already dim lights go dimmer and the stage lights go bright. An MC on the stage speaks to the crowd and Zayne goes in and out from listening. He only catches the latter half of a sentence.

"Let's give them a warm welcome, ladies and gentleman!"

Music begins to play with a slow intro. Zayne doesn't know the song, but he thinks he's heard it before on TV or somewhere else. Maybe somewhere online. He isn't sure.

It doesn't take any time for Zayne to understand why you're such a popular performer.

From the minute you step out, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Like stealing the air from his lungs, you walk in with confidence. Undeniably gorgeous and keen about it too, you approach the pole center stage with a playful coyness.

You spin around the pole as the song works it's way to the chorus, limbs loose as you mouth the lyrics to the intro. Zayne can barely make out the lyrics—appropriately sexual, from what he can tell.

Your expression is light as you pull off a routine of tricks. He can't help but admire the skill in it - well aware of what kind of core strength and control is required to hold yourself upright.

Even your landing is graceful as you drop back onto your heels and bend forward on your knees.

You let loose when the chorus begins. You've practiced for this. The moment you hear the verse you choreographed the whole dance around - you own the attention of the crowd completely. Gesturing like you're grinding against the pole, face pulled into a grin, hair flipping back as you enjoy the music. People throw tips onto the stage and you work them into your routine.

Offering winks and blowing kisses, even Zayne finds his face cracked in a smile that feels amused. He isn't sure what it is exactly, that seems to make you different.

You look like you love the attention. That everyone's eyes are on you, fully entranced.

Himself included.

When the next part of the song plays, you playfully drop down onto the floor to do crowdwork. He thinks the cheering is going to blow out his ear drums, the spotlight working hard to follow you as a path clears.

This is the part where you seduce the audience, Zayne recognizes. To crowd and get to close without ever touching, taking sips of drinks and giving a guiding hand when someone wants to stick bills into your waistband.

There's a strict rule in place to not touch the dancers unless they touch you first. Most everyone abides by it, though Zayne's sure that can get tricky on other nights.

You go through different sections as the song plays.

And you make eyes at Zayne just one section before his.

It happens too fast. You climb up a few steps and weave your way through every member of his section before you finally stop at him. With the music still playing, and in the middle of your performing - you get this look in your eye that makes Zayne hold his breath.

The bridge is more sensual then sexy. It's slower and more rhythmic. You stand in front of him and sway to it, seemingly trying to decide on what to do. Zayne can't tell if it's apart of your act or not.

Before he can make any sense of it, you use your heel to drive his knees apart and turn around - hovering over his lap. Zayne's eyes go wide. He can feel the warmth crawl it's way up his chest, ears growing hot as he clears his throat.

You turn your head over your shoulder as if to taunt him. Zayne doesn't find the strength to push you away.

This emboldens you. Just enough to drop the rest of your weight onto his lap and sit there like it's nothing. Zayne is suddenly conscious of the extent of your exposure. Almost naked and sitting directly on his—

He hears you giggle. Over the music, and this close to him - he can hear it in your voice as you sit. You lean back until your back hits his chest, kicking one of your legs up and putting more pressure between you. Your hand reaches around to the back of his neck.

He can't see the face your making in the moment. He gets the impression he doesn't need to.

You roll your hips with increasing interest as each verse of the bridge plays, at one point leaning forward again.

It's something about that specific angle. The small of your back, the slope of your shoulders and the curve of your arch. Something about that angle that Zayne understands for the first time in his life why someone would ever want to touch someone they don't know so intimately.

Zayne doesn't know you. Not outside of this. But in that split second where you're all skin and sweet smelling perfume and sweat—he so desperately wants to touch you.

So much so that he's thankful when you stand up. When the chorus begins again and the song begins to close - you turn around and face him.

With a knee between his legs resting on the couch, you cage Zayne into being face first with your chest. Your smile feels especially bright, and so terribly beautiful as you laugh again at his reaction.

He feels your fingertip trace his jaw and finds himself completely helpless as you tilt his face to get a good look at you. As if you want him to remember who exactly makes him feel like this.

He finds it almost silly. There's no way he'd be able to forget you. Not after this.

When your nails trail lightly under his chin, you lean into whisper something.

"Come find me after the show,"

And then you pull back, hand on his chest before holding it out. Somehow Zayne knows what you're asking and pulls a random amount of bills from his to place in your hand.

You grab them instantly, bending down to kiss him on the cheek just before the last few verses play. It takes until then for you to finally move on from him and entertain the last two sections in the wind down. Just a few more verses before the song comes to a close.

Zayne can hear all the blood rushing in his ears as he leans back, unsure of what exactly to do.

When it's over, the crowd erupts into cheers. A very large man comes to escort you away from them and back into the dressing room. Zayne watches you leave. He feels completely out of his depth and the pure engima of you seems to be the only anchor he has.

He feels something intense in his chest when your eyes meet and you smile again, blowing him a kiss before getting further dragged away. He can nearly hear your giggle all the way from where he sits.

After a while, the lights come on again. Different girls take up the stage. Zayne's colleagues and co-workers all pat him on the back but he finds himself more perturbed then anything.

What just happened?

He reminds himself that this is work. Your work is to bring men to their knees. And it's not that Zayne doesn't respect it, but he isn't the sort of man to be caught so easily by something as the prospect of sex.

Would it be ridiculous? For him to say there's more to it than that?

He isn't sure. He isn't sure if the semantics matters when ultimately, he finds himself wanting to do exactly as you say.

Maybe, he'll have answers when he does come find you.

[schemmentigfs]

god i’m not your strongest soldier.

[humanityinahandbag]

Not me realizing that Stede letting Ed win the thumb war and softly whispering "you won" being a whole ass metaphor for him giving Ed control over how quickly or slowly they move while also assuring him that he's already won his heart and he's not going anywhere I AM UNWELL

[lavonq]

That man.

[lagunapoint]

Emmrich Volkarin💚

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

ATTENTION

ATTENTION

BADDIES ON THE TRACK

PROCEED WITH CAUTION

ART BY @iamespecter

[mjfass]

[chosisbox]

Muscle study I guess?

[whenweallvote]

Ten years ago today, Eric Garner was killed by an NYPD officer who put him in a prohibited chokehold while arresting him.

Mr. Garner’s final words, “I can’t breathe,” became a rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement.

We honor his life and send love to his wife, Esaw. 🙏🏾

[angellayercake]

Let's all have a mental breakdown about this together source

[schemmentigfs]

HELLO????

[stationed-radio]

Hysterical over this stock photo of Cary Elwes

[lavonq]

Angelic